Mister Potter
by Fenris's Slytherin Princess
Summary: Favours lead to friendship, but will friendship lead to more? A fluff/Angst Drarry (Draco x Harry) fic, set a few years after the war! WARNINGS: Swears (sorry!) and Eating Disorder themes. Please Rate and Review! I may or may not write a sequel!
1. Chapter 1

"Mr Potter?" A proud voice came from outside the door of Harry's Auror office, and Harry barely had time to look up before a hand twisted the door knob, and a sharp-suited man appeared in the doorway. Harry pushed his glasses further up his nose, put his raven-feather quill down, and sniffed once. He assessed the man in front of him; parted, ice-blond hair, intimidating grey eyes, and an under-fed figure. The black suit fell a little loose around the man's waist, and he kept pulling it up with the hand that wasn't grasping a folder full of paperwork. An oak wand was sticking out of a blazer pocket, and threatening to fall out at any second.  
"Ah," Harry's mouth formed an amused smile, "still being formal, Draco?"  
"You're still hiring me," Draco muttered bitterly, "so I have to be."  
"How very Slytherin of you," Harry concluded, sitting up a little straighter.  
Draco rolled his eyes, and slammed the folder down on the dark-wood desk. "From Shacklebolt, Mister Potter." He hesitated, "about the Longbottom case."  
"Ah," Harry pursed his lips and snatched the folder into his lap, "you didn't have to do that so quickly, Draco."  
Draco winced, "please, sir, stop calling me that."  
"Fine," Harry said sarcastically, "what shall it be? Mister Malfoy? Just Malfoy? Or do you want a nickname? How about Blondie?"  
"Never mind," Draco frowned, "I just thought you'd want them as soon as possible, and I was on my way up from the mess hall, and I saw Shacklebolt's Personal Assistant. She was most compliant."  
"Did you hex her, or did you fuck her?" Harry raised a lazy eyebrow, and clicked his knuckles.  
"Neither, I just told her that I liked her hair how it was, and asked her to help me whilst she was still flustered." Draco looked at Harry uneasily, "maybe you should try it; it seems you're having no luck with the ladies."  
As Draco turned to leave, Harry called out, "I don't _always _want _ladies,_ Draco."


	2. Chapter 2

Draco sat at his desk, and looked out of the window of his bed-sit bedroom. Not a bedroom, even- a box! He was living in a box with solid walls in Muggle London with no friends or family. Or food.  
"I'm hungry," Draco mumbled, remembering that he hadn't eaten properly in three days. The dreary Squib that owned the bed-sit hadn't been around for almost a month, and he'd put a padlock on the fridge. "Asshole." Draco opened up a large scroll of parchment, and started copying out Harry Potter's accounts. "Why did I ever accept that job?" He asked himself, noting down that Harry had spent _far _too much on underwear for his female visitors. "There's no honour in any of this!" Draco grumbled as he wrote down the grand total of 200 galleons spent on whipped cream and leather. "A Malfoy working for...for _him_! I should be rotting in the streets, not working for that cocky, arrogant, self-serving sex god!" If only to make the situation more awkward, a small, white owl flew through Draco's open window. "Shit."  
Draco took the letter from the owl, and read aloud. "_Draco, how have you been? Listen, we heard Mr Watson was out of town, and we wondered if you fancied sneaking out? You know, now your Da's gone, you don't have a curfew. Hugs and Butterfly Kisses, Blaise and Pansy_."


	3. Chapter 3

Apparating as soon as he'd gotten changed out of that too-large suit, Draco found himself in Wizarding Cambridge, outside his best friend's over-sized house. He wrapped his scarf further around his neck, and began to ascend the stone steps of Number Nine, Centaur Avenue.

"Draco!" Pansy threw her arms around Draco's skinny neck and squealed. Blaise gave a respectable nod, and Pansy dragged Draco into the living room without a second thought. Draco allowed himself to be plonked down on a comfy seat, and he was grateful for the large glass of wine that was thrust into his hand. "Draco, honey," Pansy began, looking him up and down, "you look _awful_."  
Draco laughed bitterly, "yes, I'm fully aware." He gulped his wine, and looked up at Blaise. "It's nice to see you two finally together."  
"At least he hasn't hit the whores yet," Pansy grumbled.  
"I believe they are called Mistresses, my dear flower." Blaise ran a gentle hand down Pansy's arm, and she edged herself closer into him. "Besides, you're enough trouble for me- but perhaps a whore would be cheaper per night."  
"Watch your mouth!" Pansy chuckled, and then looked back down at the bemused Draco. "We're only playing. How's the job?"  
"It's poor pay for a moderate amount of work. I know that I probably won't be accepted into the Auror's, but I can at least help their plight." Draco sighed, and poured himself more wine. "Potter isn't so bad, not really. But I do wish that he wouldn't bring strays into his office durning work hours."  
"I didn't know he had a soft spot for dogs," Blaise shrugged.  
"Not dogs."  
"Cats?"  
"_Women_," Draco rolled his eyes. "The way he goes, you'd think he was trying to cover something up."  
"Really?" Pansy hissed, now definately intruiged.  
"It doesn't really matter, Pans, it's just annoying because he calls me up, does his thing with the ladies, and makes me listen to it." Draco scowled, and sipped his wine.  
"Why don't you mention it to him?" Blaise enquired.  
"_Because, _Blaise, I don't want to offend. I cannot lose this job like I lost everything else. I have barely any money for _anything, _and I can't afford the luxury of spending my spare hours looking for extra work when I know I'll be accepted for none. Potter hired me for a reason, and I hope to stay on for a better one."  
"Hey," Pansy slipped an arm around Draco's waist, and hugged him tightly, "it's _alright_. We're just worried about you. We know Mr Watson can be an arsehole."  
"You're _always _more than welcome to come crash in our spare room, you know. You might need head phones if Pansy comes back home on a Friday night, but apart from that, it's lovely." Blaise nudged Draco's ribs, and then looked rather concerned. "Draco... you _have _been eating, haven't you?"  
"O-Of course!" Draco masked his nerves with another glug of wine, "why wouldn't I be eating? It's not like I can't _afford _the food- of course I can!" He laughed over-confidently, and drunk a little more.  
"I remember sixth year, Draco. You were worse than this but-" Pansy was cut off my a stern look from her fiance.  
"It's alright," Draco frowned, and set his glass down, "I'm starving, really, but I just can't afford much at the moment. The rent keps going up, and I'm having to spend more and more money on things that the Ministry should provide for me, and I really _cannot _afford nice things."  
"Draco," Blaise hoisted Draco up by his collar, "you look like shit. I'm one-hundered-percent serious right now. You look awful. We're taking you out for dinner and- _no arguments or I'll gve you a bloody nose_\- you're having the biggest plate of food we can get you! Money is no object. You're our best friend and, more importantly, a Slytherin. We dine in style, my friends."

An hour later, and Draco and been forced into an old suit of Blaise's (that fit better than any that he owned) and was Flooing his way to The Sparkling Oceans, an upper-class resturant in Wizarding London, owned by Daphne Greengrass. It was, apparently, one of Pansy's favourite places to go for a nice dinner, and she was so enthusiastic that Draco would be accompanying her that day. "Sparkling Oceans!" Draco threw a handful of Floo Powder into the emerald flames, and waited to be thrown onto the hard-wood floor of the Flooing area.

"Ah, Mister Zabini, Miss Parkinson! It's so good to see you again! And you brought a guest? Mister Malfoy, it's lovely to see you looking so hungry. I trust you all will enjoy your time here, yes?" A fast speaking woman with a hefty French accent greeted the trio when they'd all recovered from the Floo.  
"Belle!" Pansy kissed the woman's cheek, and smiled widely. "Draco is _starving_, so give him...uh..." She waved her hand about absently, "pumpkin juice and gin, Spiced Stew, and a big plate of vegetables. Blaise and I will have our usual. Thank you, and we'll sit in our booth, too."

Ten minutes later, Draco was sat opposite Blaise and Pansy at a window booth, with a large plate of bread and dips for a starter. He ate politely, but secretly wished to eat the whole thing alone. Pansy happily snuggled up to Blaise, and rested with her head in the crook of his neck. She nibbled on a slice of French bread, and Blaise dipped bread sticks in salsa, and muttered lazily to Pansy.

Another half-an-hour of happy chatter, and Belle, Pansy's favourite waitress, came back with their food. "_Bonsoir_, loves," Belle slid the the food down on the table, and summoned the correct cutlery for each diner.  
"Thank you, Belle." Blaise nodded politely, and began eating his seafood platter happily. Draco's munched his spiced stew, and his mind began recalling the calories of a carrot, and then he realised the problem was back.  
"Uh," Draco muttered when Belle had left, "I'm not actually that hungry." He stood up before he could be interupted, "in fact, I'm just going to go to the toilet, and I'll be _right_ back."  
"I'll come with you," Blaise put down his fork, and Draco saw Pansy's hand creeping up her fiance's arm.  
"I'm a big boy," Draco said coldly, "and I think I can go by myself."

Draco pushed his way to the pristine bathroom, locked himself in a stall, and collapsed on the floor. His mind was reeling, and he couldn't think straight. Sweat poured down his forehead, and his fingers tapped on his smart shoes with rhythm. He heard a door swing open, and he held his breath for as long as it took for the man to walk back out. He ran his hand through his sweat-lined hair, and began to regain his mind. "Don't be silly, Draco," he breathed into his knees, "it's _alright_." He unlocked the stall door, staggered to the basins, ran a cold tap, and stuck his hands underneath them. He counted to ten slowly, and again, and again, until his vision cleared, and the world was no longer blurry. He ran a wet hand through his damp hair, and his breaths shook. Water always calmed him down. He cast a drying spell on his entire body, breathed deeply for a few minutes, and went back into the stall.  
Another three minutes passed, and Draco felt strong enough to go to his meal. He ate quietly and slowly, and refused to answer Pansy's concerned questions.

"So I says to her, I says 'Pansy, you can't just Apparate to my parent's house in your underwear- my dad wants a new mistress!'" Blaise chuckled in his tipsy stupor. Pansy frowned angrily, put her eyes twinkled with amusement.  
"I had a dressing gown on," she grumbled, and laced her hand with Blaise's. Draco was _about _to add an anecdote of his own, when the one and only Mr Harry Potter walked through the door.  
"Shit," Draco put his desert fork down, and decided to go for his gin and tonic.  
"Oh, ignore him," Blaise giggled, "you're here with us, it's not like he's going to come over and-"  
"Draco!" Harry strolled over with a large-chested blonde on his arm.  
"Hello, Mr- Uh, Harry," Draco stammered, "I filed your latest case, and I'll have it on your desk tomorrow morning."  
"No work tonight, Draco," Harry smiled, and sent his company to sit down. "It's good to see you getting well fed," Harry nodded gratefully at Pansy, and then looked back at Draco, "well, you can have the morning off, and I'll see you after lunch."


	4. Chapter 4

"Now, are you sure you don't want to stay for a little longer?" Pansy took Draco's empty coffee cup, and smoothed his hair over. "You don't have to be at work for another two hours!"  
"I need to go back to mine and get some stuff anyway," Draco hugged Pansy tightly, and kissed her forehead tenderly, "I don't think I'm going to sleep over anyway," he sighed.  
"Don't let the Golden Boy get you down, Draco," Blaise called from the kitchen, with a mouthful of food.  
"You did really well last night, Draco. I'm proud of you," Pansy squeezed Draco's arm, and saw him Apparate off to start his day.

Draco's bedroom was messier than he remembered, and it took him ten minutes to find a gaudy folder that Harry insisted that he owned. "Such poor taste," he scoffed, running his hand over a velvet flower swirl, "he's doing this to mock me, I swear it." He managed to scrounge up a few spare sheets of A4 paper, as it was easier and cheaper than true parchment, and a spare inkwell, and shoved them into his over-the-shoulder leather bag. He always found that ball-point pens- or even fountain pens- worked better, but _no!_ The Ministry would have to order those from Muggle and Squid suppliers, and _that _cost time.  
Draco peered into the bathroom mirror quickly, and glanced at his gaunt, translucent features. He made a non-commital sound, and Apparated to the Ministry.


	5. Chapter 5

"Ah, Daisy," Harry ran a hand over the blonde's cheek, and smiled sweetly, "I think it's time you left." He ushered the woman out of his office, and, once her footsteps had died down, went to collapse in his leather chair. He opened a large, bound book, and began scribbling some details of his last active case down. His handwriting was barely legible, and his quill's nib was broken, so everything he wrote was doubled up.  
He ran an absent hand through his messy hair. He'd gotten barely any sleep the previous night, thanks to Daisy the non-stop-slut. He ached _everywhere_, and he just wished that he could do something more about his dilema. His sex-on-a-stick secretary wasn't helping matters, and Harry was secretly glad that he had the morning to himself.  
He'd just finished the first risk assessment page of his accounts, when a familiar knock came at the door. Knowing who it was, Harry didn't stand up. "Harry, why have I just seen Draco Malfoy in the mess hall doing work?" It was Hermione. Of course.  
"I gave him the morning off," Harry shrugged.  
"_Exactly_!" Hermione shut the door behind her, and went to Harry's bookcase, and flicked through the book titles, mouthing them as she read along the shelves. "Listen," she stopped and faced Harry, "have you tried _enforcing _his days off? Or maybe even talking to him?"  
"I gave him this job as a favour," Harry put his quill down, "and I don't want to interfere. What if he tells someone?"  
"Harry, nobody cares that you like men as well," Hermione tutted, and slid into a comfy chair on the other side of the office. "I don't care, Ron doesn't care, Ginny and the Weasley's don't care, Draco _clearly _doesn't care, and nor should you. Just...live your life, Harry. You've earned that right."  
"Whatever," Harry grumbled, and searched his bottom drawer for a new quill. "Listen, if you're going by the mess hall, why don't you send Draco up? I'll... _talk _to him, if you think that's a good idea."  
"Well, he's on your payroll, and it must be horrible for him here," Hermione sighed.  
"At least _someone _is kind enough to pay him! After all he's done-"  
"-Harry, he shouldn't have to spend his whole life repenting for his sins! He's a human, like everyone else- I mean, unless they're _not _human- so treat him like one!" Hermione snapped.  
"I didn't realise you were so passionate about this," Harry frowned.  
"I just don't think you should see his job as a favour or a penance. He's trying to live, for Merlin's sake, and you working him like a mule is _not _helping. And I don't care _what _he's done, Harry James Potter, his life isn't a toy, and he doesn't deserve all the punishment he gets." Breathing deeply, Hermione stood up, "I don't care if you _are _the Chosen One, Harry, you shouldn't look down on others; that's how that stupid war started in the first place."  
"Alright, I'll see what I can do to help him out, okay?"  
"No! It's not okay, Harry!" Hermione huffed, and stropped out the door. Harry was alone again.

Half an hour later, a timid knock came from Harry's handsome office door. "You called for me?" Draco Malfoy entered nervously, clutching a wad of paper, and with a quill behind his ear.  
"Sit down," Harry closed his book with a _thump_, and straightened out his navy blue blazer. He pushed his glasses further up his nose, and clicked his shoulders. Forcing himself to relax, Harry began. "I hope you had a good meal last night."  
"I did, thank you. Blaise and Pansy make for good company, and they paid," Draco hesitated, "I'd never be able to afford to eat there."  
"You look like you can't afford to eat _anywhere_," Harry leaned back, and examined Draco with his eyes. His eyes were weighed down with purple bags, his skin was a lot more sickly looking than usual, his clothes hung off him, and he lacked energy. Still, Harry admired his willpower. "Are you eating enough?"  
"No," Draco admitted, and clutched his stomach as if he had just remembered that he was hungry.  
"Did you eat lunch?" Harry asked.  
"No," Draco frowned, holding on to his stomach even harder.  
"Why don't you eat at the mess hall?" Harry raised a bushy eyebrow, and put his feet on his desk.  
"Because not everyone can afford the Ministry's ridiculous prices, Mister Potter." Draco said respectfully, and loosened his grip on his stomach.  
"So you need more money?" Harry inquired.  
"No, Mister Potter. I don't mind," he paused, "but I shouldn't have to buy my own paper."  
"You're right, I'll owl Jill in supplies tomorrow- it's her day off today. But now, Draco Malfoy, we're going to lunch."  
"Lunch?"  
"Did I stutter?"  
"Well no, but-"  
Harry jumped up enthusiastically, grinned down at Draco, and struck a heroic pose. "To lunch!"


	6. Chapter 6

After being forced to Side-Along-Apparate to a French cafe in Wizarding London, Draco was actually grateful for the nice meal. That was two days in a row that he got a decent meal, and it wasn't bad company. "You like it here?" Harry asked, sitting down, and studying Draco's face intently.  
"Well," Draco pursed his lips, "it's a little...flamboyant for my tastes, but nevertheless, it's lovely. A little romantic, perhaps, but quaint." He picked up a menu, and scanned the first side.  
"It's all in French," Harry cursed, "I completely forgot." Harry was sad for a moment, and Draco noticed.  
"Is something the matter? Do you not speak French?" He asked, resting the menu down on the clothed table.  
"Well, I speak a little; not nearly enough, but a little. I used to take Ginny here," he frowned sadly, "I haven't thought about our time here for a long while."  
"Do you miss her?" Draco knew he was overstepping his boundries, but wanted to know.  
"Kind of," Harry furrowed his brow, more concentrating on the French than the conversation, "I miss the idea of her more than I miss her. I mean, we're still close, so there isn't much to miss. Just... not even the sex, you know?" He looked at Draco seriously.  
"I wouldn't know, Mister Potter-"  
"_Harry_-"  
"-I haven't since seventh year."  
"Oh," Harry blushed, and busied himself with the menu. "Do you speak French?"  
"Me? I'm fluent," Draco said shyly, reading his own menu.  
"Can you translate for me?"  
"Sure! What did you want me to read?"  
"Uh, all of it?"  
"Well, what do you fancy?"  
"Gosh, everything."  
"Seriously?"  
"I'm hungry!"  
"Well, how about a salad? Or a sandwich? Soup?"  
"Any more 'S's?" Harry smirked.  
"They have a nice special today," Draco pointed to the blackboard above the counter, "I mean, it's actually an Italian dish, but they've Frenched it up a little."  
Harry caught his breath as Draco called the waiter over. "_Bonjour!_" The waiter nodded at the pair, "_une date?_"  
"_Ah! Non!_" Draco smiled sadly, and Harry looked on in amazement, "_nous ne sommes que d'amis. Je travaille avec lui._" Harry looked at Draco quizzically, and his fists tightened at the look of the dashing blond's jaw line, moving quickly as he spoke fluently. Even his Adam's Apple was joining in on the fun.  
After a few minutes of chatter, Harry hissed, "what are you saying?" Draco paused his fluid conversation with the handsome waiter, and looked back at Harry.  
"Oh," Draco blushed furiously, "I'm just explaining that we're from the Ministry. He says he has family that works there."  
"Ah," Harry sat back in his chair, and watched Draco order.  
"_-deux verres d'eau gazeuse. Et, un sandwich du fromage pour moi. Merci._" Draco turned his skeletal face to Harry, and smiled. "All ordered! I think you'll like what you've got, actually. Father used to have it made for mother-" He paused, and then his shoulders sagged. He hadn't thought of his parents since his mother had fled.  
"Hey," Harry leaned forwards, and smiled empathetically towards Draco, "you don't have to bottle it up, and you don't have to forget."  
"It's still sore, that's all." Draco sighed.  
"I understand," Harry cracked his knuckles.  
"Thank you for this," Draco said quietly, accepting his drink when it came over.  
"_Merci?_" Harry half said, half asked the waiter.  
"_Oui, Harry Potter," _the waiter chuckled, and went back to the bar to clean up.  
"Why are you thankful?" Harry asked, running a hand through his hair. Whenever he did that, Draco found, he was lost for words.  
Not a good time to be lost for words, though, was it? "Uh," he mumbled.  
"Draco?" Harry grinned, and clicked in a teasing manner.  
"Oh," Draco shook his head a little, and blushed. "It's just, well, I don't really get to do _this, _or even eat at home..."  
"I thought you didn't live in the manor?" Harry picked up his glass, and waited for an answer to his rhetorical question.  
"I don't," Draco frowned, "I live in a poultry bedsit in London owned by a rather mean squib," he found himself complaining. "It's not even that he dislikes _me_! He hates everyone!" Draco hung his head, "I'm sorry, I shouldn't burden you."  
Harry hesitated, debating on whether or not he should speak next. He decided to, "I'm not just your boss, Draco. I'm your friend, if you want me."  
Draco looked up, and found himself captivated by two emerald pools. "Well," he managed, "of course. But you don't have to; it's bad publicity to be friends with an ex-Death Eater." Draco pointed out painfully.  
"Hey," Harry's voice was soft, "you're better than that. I can see that now."  
Draco felt a burning blush in his cheeks, and he quickly drunk some of his sparkling water. "You're too kind, Mister Potter."  
"Okay," Harry grumbled, "there are certain circumstances where calling me 'Mister Potter' is acceptable- a respectable lunch date is not one of them."  
"Date?" Draco raised a perfectly plucked eyebrow in jest, and surpressed a giggle as Harry turned red.  
"Well, not a _date _date, just a- you know- two collegues going out for lunch. Discussing work, eating things, the Auror business." Harry coughed awkwardly, and rubbed his eyes from under his glasses.  
"Tired?" Draco asked.  
"When Daisy Clearwater asks you on a date, you _know _you're not sleeping." Harry scoffed, "what _was _I thinking?"  
"Uh," Draco bit his lip in thought, "maybe you were trying to hide something?"  
Harry sent Draco a death glare. "_Listen, _what you saw- yes, it's me, but it's something I want to keep quiet. I gave you this job to _shut you up,_ but I'm not going to fire you if you tell someone. So go ahead, tell the world." He smiled distantly, "maybe it'd make things easier."  
"What do you mean?" Draco inquired.  
"Oh, don't listen to me." Harry waved a hand dismissively, "I'm just tired."  
"At least you own the bed you sleep on," Draco smirked joyfully.  
"Oh yeah? Did you live in a cupboard for eleven years?"  
"No, but I lived a closet for longer," Draco muttered bitterly.  
"Oh," Harry looked shocked, "I didn't know-"  
"Not many people do, I'm afraid. I'm supposed to marry a Greengrass, have plently of spawn of my own, get old, get rich, and die unhappily."  
"Well- I'd rather that than be expected to save the world," Harry laughed.  
"Yeah," Draco nodded sadly, "me too."


	7. Chapter 7

After an enjoyable lunch with Harry, Draco was given the rest of the day off. In fact, he was instructed to sleep a lot, and maybe find some food, if he could.  
He didn't go home straight away. He went to visit a friend that he hadn't seen for about two months. Apparating to a small cottage in Wales, Draco felt nervous. He hadn't seen her in so long! What if lots had changed? What if she hated him? He didn't know why he cared, but he did. He raised his fist, and tapped on the wooden door three times. It was a beautiful cottage, with hanging baskets filled with bright flowers, and tall sunflowers climbed the front wall. The thatched roof was a danger, Draco had always thought, but he could appreciate it's beauty.  
"Draco!" A man answered the door. For a second, Draco was utterly confused, and then he smiled widely, and thrust a hand to the man.  
"Neville! Merlin, you're here!" Draco shook Neville's hand, still smiling openly.  
"Hello, Draco," Neville chuckled, and let the blonde in.

"God, you look awful," Neville's brow furrowed as he handed Draco a cup of tea. "I mean, in the nicest possible way, of course. But you do. You look like shit."  
"Thanks," Draco half-laughed, and sipped his piping hot cup.  
"Luna's just gone to check on the Thestrals in the woods," he explained, "she was a little worried about the babies."  
"Of course she is," Draco found himself smiling once more, "that's such a Luna thing."  
"Yes, well, she's a little bored lately." Neville frowned shallowly, and then smiled again. "But tell me about you! How have you been?"  
"Ah, well, I got kicked out of the manor, didn't I? And now I'm living with a bloody dick head, who's named after a fictional character, no less!"  
"Which one?"  
"Dr Watson," Draco shrugged.  
"Oh, they're great books, you know."  
"I haven't read it," Draco frowned.  
"That's a shame; you'd love it, you know." Neville warmed his hands on his floral mug. "Anyway, anything new?"  
"Actually," Draco made a split-second decision to open up to Neville, "I need to confess something."  
"Shall I go get a dog collar?" Neville teased, but then returned a neutral expression when Draco looked away shyly.  
"I-I like men," he muttered into his cup.  
Neville nodded once, "yeah, I know."  
"Wha-"  
"I just _know, _okay? Don't worry, I don't care. You've done worse things than take it up the shitter," Neville grinned, and Draco relaxed instantly.  
"Trust you," he rolled his eyes in jest, and drank his tea. Outside, a loud _Pop _could be heard.  
"Ah, Luna's home! Do you two want some privacy?" Neville asked respectfully.  
"You're the one marrying her!" Draco stood up, and walked with Neville to the door.

"He's right," Luna sat next to Draco, and examined his face thoroughly, "you _do _look awful. Draco, how much have you eaten this week?"  
"Uh, about two full meals, a couple of apples, and a dozen cups of coffee." Draco admitted.  
Luna held Draco's chin up with her forefinger, and gazed at his eyes, "you're getting bad again. In fact, you're getting worse than bad-"  
"I'm not doing this on purpose!" Draco pulled away a little, but let himself be grabbed again.  
"It doesn't matter, you know. Your body doesn't care, and nor does your mind." Luna hesitated, and then frowned miserably, "you don't want to go to St Mungo's again, do you?"  
Draco had vivid flashbacks at his time at the Healer's, which often kept him up at night. He'd gotten a lot better with eating over the last few years, but whenever he was nervous, or sad, or angry, he felt like not eating, or not keeping the food down. "No, I don't."  
"Then _please _eat more," Luna begged, "do it for me. Do it for Harry-"  
"_What?!_" Draco pulled away properly, now, and looked shocked- appalled, even.  
"Don't play dumb, Draco Malfoy," Luna said, her tone firm and dreamy, "we've all seen it." She called to Neville, "haven't we, sweetie?"  
"Draco liking Harry?"  
"Yeah!"  
"Yup! Plain as my teeth."  
"_See!_" Luna nodded quickly, "admit it."  
"Even if I did-"  
"Which you do-"  
"-I couldn't do anything about it. I work for him! We're just getting friendly! I don't want to bugger anything up."  
"You won't ruin anything, Draco! Harry's a nice person, just ask him out for dinner, he wouldn't say _no_!" Luna smiled reassuringly.  
Draco frowned, "no, but he'd tell me to fuck off."

Draco unlocked his bedroom door, slipped in, and put the chain on. He'd been back to the Ministry to collect some more paperwork to do after having dinner with Luna and Neville. Dinner with them was always a little hectic, but Draco loved it all the same; it was the opposite to the dinner's that his mother used to throw. He flung himself onto his bed, and slept happily for the night.


	8. Chapter 8

"You're late, Draco." Harry said without looking up, as Draco rushed through the office door. "Sit," he instructed, and pushed his glasses onto the top of his head. Draco sat nervously as he looked at the green emeralds in front of him, and he played with a shirt button as Harry spoke. "So, I heard from Luna that you're having trouble," he hesitated, "in general. Now, I'm not _just _your boss, Draco," his tone softened, and he leant forward on his hands, "I'm your friend."  
Draco scoffed, "you're clearly mistaken! I'm having no troubles-"  
"Tell me about your house."  
"I haven't got one. I live in a bedsit! We went through this-"  
"And how much do you get to eat?"  
"Depends."  
"On?"  
"Who I see, where I go, how much I get paid."  
"_Do you eat enough?_"  
Draco faltered, and Harry sighed heavily. He knew he was going to regret this, somehow, but he Accio'd a document and quill, and handed them to Draco. "Sign this, and you'll own half of my house. Or rather, you'll be living with me. "  
"What? No, I'm sorry, Mister Potter, but I really can't accept this. I can't afford rent at Mr Watson's as it is, let alone a London Mansion... No," Draco shook his head firmly, "I refuse."  
"Why?" Harry asked, knowing that this was coming.  
"Because- well- I just _can't_, okay! I am a Malfoy, and I'll stay at the bedsit until I can get the Mansion back." Draco stammered, and looked at his lap.  
"How about," Harry stiffened, "you stay with me- free, _of course_\- until you get your estate back?"  
Draco curled his top lip slightly, but picked up the quill. His handwriting was neater than Harry's, even his signature was legible. "There," he sighed, and pushed the paper and quill back into Harry's hand.  
"I'll give you your key tonight," Harry stood up, "you can Side-Along with me later. I'm leaving at four, is that okay?" Draco nodded. "Anything in particular you'd like for dinner?" Draco shook his head. "My treat?" And again. "A takeaway, then? You can't object to that?"  
"If it pleases you," Draco mumbled, and walked out the door.

At three minutes to four, Draco was waiting at the mess hall.  
It was a smaller version of the Great Hall at Hogwarts, and for that, Draco was partly grateful. A lot of rectangular tables and mismatched chairs were strewn about, and a huge set of doors led into the kitchens. House Elves were payed in the Ministry, thanks to Hermione, though a few were disheartened by this. There were a few squib and magical chefs, too, which made up for variety. A self-service coffee machine was Draco's favourite part, though, because Harry had given him his reusable token for it. His record was about seventeen cups of black coffee in a single working day.  
"Draco!" Harry came through a smaller set of side doors, with a lot of parchment in his arms, "I'm glad you're here! Listen, I got a telephone number for an awesome Thai restuarant that we could order from? Or I could cook us something to eat? I've got a few beers in the fridge, and I'm pretty sure that Ron left a bottle of vodka somewhere in my bedroom. I've yet to find it, but I'm almost certain it's there."  
"Uh," Draco opened and closed his mouth, "shall I get my stuff first?"  
"Oh," Harry smacked his forehead, which was a feat in itself with all the work, "shit. Yeah, that's a good point. Okay, well we can Apparate to mine, I'll get your key and drop this paper work off, and then we can sort your stuff out?"  
"Do you have to come with me?" Draco frowned, and played with his wand in his back pocket. His suit still dripped off him, and the black made him looked like a poorly tailored ghost.  
"Well, I can help you with the packing, if you'd like?" Harry raised an eyebrow, and shifted the parchment in his arms.  
"Sure," Draco muttered, not quite sure why he was agreeing.  
"Awesome," Harry grinned, grabbed Draco's sleeve, and Apparated to his own home.


	9. Chapter 9

A modest abode, Draco thought, though why the pillars were needed, he couldn't know. The three-storey house was made of new red bricks, and the tiling on the roof was black, but took an emerald gleam as the light hit it. The door was a clean white, and every single flower was in place. Harry took they key from his pocket with difficulty, and unlocked the door.  
The front area was homely and warm, with a small firepit under a large television. A wall telephone was above the key bowl next to the door. Draco knew quite a bit about Muggle technology, thanks to the years outside of the mansion, but he still felt a little uncomfortable around some of the things. "Make yourself at home," Harry shrugged, and went into the kitchen to put his work down. Draco stood awkwardly, waiting for Harry to come back. His forehead was a little damp with sweat, and his hands were clamy.  
Harry seemed to take an eternity to set his stuff down and order it, but Draco welcomed him back with a timid smile. "I'm growing cobwebs," he said with a shaky breath.  
"Sorry about that," Harry smiled warmly, "it seems that I had more parchment than I thought." He clapped his hands once, "shall I Side-Along with you?"  
"To get my things?" Draco asked.  
"Yeah," Harry nodded confidently.  
"Sure," Draco offered his arm, and Harry took it. "Are you ready?" Harry nodded again, and Draco Apparated the pair to his measley bed-sit.

It was messier than Draco had expected. Had he even made his bed? Probably not; he rarely did anymore. A pair of dirty boxers lay on the floor, and about seven socks were huddled into a corner, begging to be cleaned. The blinds were half-down, casting a long shadow in everything in the room. A broken picture frame showed Draco, Pansy, Blaise and the Greengrass girls at a party in Draco's eighth year; Draco had an arm looped around Blaise and Daphne, and they were all laughing with drinks in their hands. That was an odd party, Draco recalled. A pile of paperwork wobbled precariously on Draco's flat-pack desk, and about nine inkwells were scattered on it. A small pile of chewed quills were flying around the room, enchanted, and Draco regretted even learning that spell. Draco had pinned articles and interesting snippets along one wall, and, on some of the hangings, various things were highlighted. A small stack of books were leaning against the end of Draco's bed, and in all, the room was so cramped that Harry had to push himself against the wall for Draco to be able to move around.  
The only good thing about the bedsit was the ensuite bathroom, where he spent most of his free time. A marked mirror was hanging above the off-white sink, with various post-it note reminders around it's frame. The toilet was a little dirty, and Harry averted his eyes when Draco was showing him around. The shower was small, and could barely fit one person into it, let alone two, Harry thought. There was a tiny cabinet under the sink, which held nail scissors, earbuds, wax strips, a few razors, and spare toothpaste and brushes. Draco's comb lay on the sink, next to lavender soap and a green toothbrush. Constantly used scales were pushed into the corner of the room, and Harry pursed his lips when he saw them, as they were clearing out the bathroom.  
"Right," Draco looked weak, Harry thought sadly, "that's the bathroom done."  
"You don't have to bring your toothbrush; I can stretch for a new one, I think." Harry raised an eyebrow at the blond.  
"No," Draco shook his head slightly, "I like mine."  
"Okay," Harry put the cardboard box that he'd conjured on the floor, and looked at Draco. "Well, I've got most things, but was bringing the scales necessary?"  
Draco made a non-commital noise, and then frowned. "Well, they do look nice..."  
"Okay," Harry said, a slight hint of disbelief in his voice. "So, shall we do books first?"  
"Sure," Draco looked over at his Leaning Library, and then sat cross-legged by it. The first book he picked up was a leather-bound diary, and he passed it to Harry. "Don't read it, please." He said quietly, as Harry packed it. He then passed Harry all his old texts books and a few scrolls of notes from Hogwarts.  
"These may come in handy at the Ministry, Draco." Harry said, scanning some notes on an antidote prototype for Moss Bite Poison.  
"Oh," Draco's skin turned a modest shade of pink. Harry thought that looked cute. "Well, I suppose we could get the Alchemists to look at them, but they're really just ideas."  
"No," Harry shook his head, "I have a better idea. But we'll sort that out when we've moved you in properly, yes?"  
"Okay," Draco handed Harry an armful of Muggle fiction; Alice In Wonderland, Matilda, Peter Rabbit, a book on fairy tales, and a lot of books by an author named Terry Pratchett. Harry thought it was strange that Draco had these, but upon reading the blurb to 'Going Postal', Harry decided that he may ask to borrow some of these books. The next lot of books were non-fiction; many Muggle, but a few Potions books and several on Alchemy and Healing.  
"You're interested in Healing?" Harry quirked a smile.  
"Not really, but Father always wanted me to take it up. I'd prefer to work in Potions, and I tried to invest in an alchemy lab, but it was far too expensive." Draco admitted shyly.  
"An Alchemy lab?" Harry was mildly confused.  
"It's sort of like a Potions Laborartory, except that it's a little more complex and experimental." Draco sighed, "the Mansion had one, and I used to play about with simple ingredients."  
"Does the Ministry have one?" Harry inquired.  
"Oh, I should think so." Draco nodded eagerly, and Harry decided that he liked this side of Draco. "You see, Potions Labs are okay when it comes to simple potions, and they _can _make complex ones, too, of course, but Alchemy labs are better for high quality potions, poisons and antidotes. In an Alchemy lab, you have more room for things to go right- and wrong." Draco sighed sadly, "but they're probably one of the most expensive pieces of equipment that I've ever laid eyes on. I mean, they're maginficently done. They're mainly used in Healing, of course, but they can do pretty much anything. Of course, anyone can make something in a Potions Lab," he added smugly, "it takes real skill to be an Alchemist."  
Harry chuckled softly, "you know, that sounds amazing." Harry felt little butterflies in his stomach as he watched Draco continue to talk about something that meant that much to him.  
"The best part of an Alchemy lab is the vials and solution bottles! You can order and craft your own, naturally, and I just _love _making my own labels and-" Draco saw Harry's expression, and slumped. "Am I boring you?"  
"No! Merlin, Draco, I'm _interested_." Harry saw a flicker of a smile on Draco's face.  
Draco blushed furiously, and brushed aside Harry's comment. "Let's just carry on."

After all the books had been packed away, Harry thought it was best to pack Draco's clothes. A small clothes rack was all Draco owned. "We'll go shopping," Harry decided, as he folded and packed a lot of suits and smart clothes that were too big for Draco.  
Draco hung back, "they're not too big. They're comfortable," he said.  
"Yes," Harry was beginning to understand a lot, "of course they are! Now," he picked up a navy blue suit, "this is a good suit! It's about two sizes too big, yes? But wow," he stroked a seam, "fine craftmanship! You have impecible taste, you know?"  
Draco smiled shyly, "thank you. I salvaged what I could from the Mansion, but it wasn't enough."  
"When are you moving back?" Harry asked, "I mean, I offered for you to stay with me, so don't think I'm kicking you out already, but I know you'd be more comfortable there."  
Draco sighed sadly, "whenever I can get through the defenses, crack various codes, and get in touch with Mother."  
"Do you want to go back?"  
"Not really, but I don't want to go back to _anywhere. _I know it may be hard for you to hear, but we all have bad experiences from the War."  
Harry rested his hand on Draco's shoulder, "I believe you, and I'm here for you."

Eventually, the pair gathered all of Draco's clothes, and began on the odds and ends. Draco was folding up his sheets to put into storage when he heard a giggle. "What?" He asked, turning to face Harry.  
"You kept some old Witch Weekly articles from after the War," Draco knew what Harry meant, and slapped himself inwardly.  
"Oh shit," he muttered, and put his sheet down.  
"You kept ones about me?"  
"There's some on all of you! It's important to keep tabs on enemies!" Draco defended himself.  
"Enemies?" Harry looked hurt.  
"I-" Draco faltered, "you know what I meant. This was before you hired me. This is even before you started growing facial hair!"  
"True," Harry ran an absent hand over his five o'clock shadow. "The one on your parents-"  
"Don't," Draco looked away.  
"No, listen to me." Harry moved and pulled Draco's chin to face him. "I've had _so _many people tell me how unfair it was. People said how brave you've been. Even Ron told me that it was cruel what they said about you and your family. Nearly everyone that has mentioned it has said that neither you nor them deserve what has been said about you, or what was done about it. I agree with them." Harry let go of Draco's face, expecting him to look away, but he didn't.  
"You do?" Draco's voice was shaky.  
"Of course I do, Draco. Bloody hell, I spoke in court on behalf of _all _of you- not just you. It's unfortunate that I couldn't do more, and I wish I had more pull then, but I didn't. I've appealed for you for years, but they can't do anything now that your family is off the radar." Harry frowned, "I've worked with your for nearly a year now, and I've seen what it's done to you. I wish I could do more, but all I can do is be there for you."  
Draco opened his mouth to speak, but all that came out was an ugly sob. "I-"  
"Hush," Harry's smile was watery as he pulled Draco into a brief hug. "Hermione's working on _something _to do with your parents. We can go see her on Saturday if you want? She's invited us all for dinner, but we can always go later, if you're not up to it."  
"No," Draco shook his head and stepped out of the oddly loving embrace, "I think I'm up to it."  
"Come on," Harry smiled bravely at Draco, "let's finish up, and we can order something spicy in for dinner."  
"That sounds lovely," Draco said, finding himself completely at ease.

With a box each, Harry and Draco Apparated to Harry's house. Darkness was promising to set in soon, and so Harry was determined to put the stuff in Draco's new room, and order a takeaway. Draco was instructed to sit on the leather sofa and wait for Harry, and so he did. He found the sofa a little too soft for his liking, but he made himself comfortable nonetheless.  
Three minutes later, Harry came plodding down the stairs, a flyer in hand. "So I found the menu to that Thai restaraunt, and I thought we could have them Floo it over in about half an hour? I suspect you're tired."  
"Yeah, and I've got work to finish for you for Monday." Draco groaned into his hand, and went to stand up.  
"No!" Harry yelped, "no." He repeated, more calm this time. "We can work through it together on Sunday, if you'd like. No. For now, we can eat, drink, and watch a film."  
Draco huffed, "but..."  
"You're living with your boss now," Harry smirked, chucking Draco the menu, "do as I say."  
"I just want to get it done! Miss Granger will want everything sent down to her department before Monday evening, and if I do it early, I can start on my _own _case." Draco frowned up at Harry.  
"I'm having Thai fishcakes, did you want the same?" Harry cocked a hip.  
"Menu, please."

Half an hour later, Harry had ordered the dinner, and he'd pursuaded Draco into a beer and a bit of rubbish Muggle T.V. Draco wasn't too pleased with the choice of programme to start with, but soon enough he was interested in the documentary. He was also thankful for the drink. "Muggle beer?" He raised an eyebrow at Harry, who was lounging across a leather sofa, smiling softly.  
"Well, it's cheap, and it tastes alright." He shrugged, and took a long sip of Fosters.  
"Father had this wine-" Draco stopped himself, and then looked sadly at his large can of lager quickly.  
"You don't talk much about your old life," Harry pointed out, subtly turning down the television.  
"I'm trying to out-run it," Draco sighed, "it catches up with me every now and again, and I hate it."  
"What are you scared of?" Harry stood up as the Floo flashed green, idicating that the food was here. "I mean, aside from _everything_. You can't change it. You're sorry, and you're doing good now. Isn't that what counts?"

Draco thought on this as he helped Harry plate up the food. Was he good? He'd done some bad things, and he'd witness some awful things. Still, he was trying to redeem himself. _That _counted for something, he thought. He nervously watched as Harry shoved piles of food into his mouth, and he barely picked at his dinner. "I'm not hungry," he finally said, looking at his near full plate. Well, he'd cleared the salad.  
"Okay," Harry uttered relucantly, and finished his mouthful of fish cake. "I've got some Victoria Sponge in the cupboard, if you want some of that?"  
"No," Draco said curtly, and took his plate into the kitchen to clear and then clean. When Draco had finished cleaning up, he went to join Harry back in the dining room. The oak table was varnished roughly, and Draco had found that he liked running a finger down the grain. Harry had put his clear-framed glasses on again, and had summoned a book to pour himself over whilst he ate.  
Barely looking up, the ex Gryffindor smiled, "did you enjoy your dinner?"  
"It was unusual," Draco granted, "but yes. Your choice in fishcake was well placed," he found himself a lot less relaxed than he had been at the restaurant and his bedsit.  
Harry must have noticed Draco's obvious discomfort, and pushed aside his book. "Draco," he furrowed his brow, "why are you so uptight?"  
"I feel as if I am fraternising with the enemy," he admitted meekly, and leant on the table. His silver-blonde hair wasn't slick back, and fell just below his eyebrows. "I'm sorry," Draco frowned, "but I must go and do some work if we are to go out tomorrow." Excusing himself in one of the most Slytherin ways he could, Draco raced upstairs, opened the door to his new bedroom, and slumped in the seat.


	10. Chapter 10

Draco must have dozed off, because when he woke up, he was in his new bed. Everything felt off, and he rubbed his eyes vacantly. The bedsheets under him were made of silk, comfortable, and _clean_. To his right, a window had been cracked open a little, and a clear night was awaiting him as he stretched his legs. As his vision came into view, he soon realised that his room had been made for him. As he opened the window a little further, Draco took in the sight of _his _room. He hadn't felt like he'd owned a room in a long time.  
On the far wall, a bookcase had been put up, and all his books had not only been shelved, but organised too. The bookcase looked like the wood had been made of ashes, and was far taller than Draco. Draco felt looked to the side of the bookcase, and saw lots of his scrolls had been sorted out and shelved too.  
A few newspaper clippings and articles were pinned up on the wall, just like in his bedsit, and he was happy to see they were in the same order as they had been before. Draco took comfort in that small regularity.  
Looking down at it now, Draco could see that his bed had been properly made. His old sheets were gone, and the bed was fashioned with black and silver silk sheets, about seven huge pillows, and a dark green blanket, about half way down. It looked stupidly comfortable, but Draco couldn't even remember being asleep, let alone getting into bed. He _must _have been tired.  
Draco's desk had been cleared of all paper work, and no Ministry work was to be seen. Draco sighed at this, as he pulled himself up onto the window ledge. In fact, the only things on the desk were a quill, Draco's wand, and a note. Cursing himself for getting comfortable on the French window, Draco got up, and went to his desk.

_Sorry, I had to pop out for the night, something important came up. Not sure when I'll be home, but there's food and booze in the fridge- knock yourself out. Should be back for Hermione and Ron's dinner, though, so don't forget! (I probably will.)  
Found you passed out on your desk with a half-chewed quill in a small pile of spittle. I put you to bed, sung you a lullaby, and put your stuff out. I hope you don't mind what I did with the place- figured you could always move the shit around if you didn't like it.  
Anyway, I'm already ten minutes late, and Shacklebolt's gonna go ape.  
-The Enemy_


	11. Chapter 11

"What did you tell him?" A voice came from the other side of Harry's office. Lying to Draco hadn't come easy, but with an attractive Healer in the room, he didn't seem to care. Harry rubbed his eyes from behind his glasses and sighed deeply.  
"That something important came up," Harry recited sadly. "It doesn't feel right lying to him, Gin." Harry raised his peridot eyes up to Ginny, who was busying herself around Harry's office. Her long, white robes grazed against her ankles as she scurried around the bookshelves, and her ginger hair flowed just below her shoulder blades. Her wand was balanced behind her ear, and she kept muttering to herself. "You're not even listening, are you?"  
Ginny made a small 'hmm', and carried on flicking around the second bookshelf. Harry never even read most of those books. "Look," Ginny frowned deeply, and turned to Harry, "I can't fix everything just because I'm a Healer. Why can't you just let him get over this in his own time?"  
Harry groaned loudly, "_Ginny_, please? For me?"  
Ginny turned her nose up, "I'll see what I can do, Harry, but...an eating disorder isn't something I can wave a wand at. It's not just..." She shook her head, "it's deep set. He clearly shuts off when you try and talk to him about it," Ginny rubbed her forehead, "isn't there something else you could do to take his mind off of it?"  
"Ah," Harry sat up, and smiled his most charming smile, "that's what I wanted to talk to you about..."


	12. Chapter 12

After spending about four hours with Ginny at the Ministry, two hours filling out forms, and another hour downing coffee in a backstreet cafe, Harry was ready to go home. He zipped up his grey hoodie as he opened the door to his house.  
"Harry? Is that you?" The scent of cooking food hit Harry like a cannon ball, and he found himself following the heavenly smells.  
"Yeah," he called back, distracted. Harry put down his briefcase in the dining room, and wandered into the kitchen.  
"Did you want beans with your fry up?" Harry burst into a fit of laughter. In front of him, Draco Malfoy was frying bacon and eggs on a Muggle oven. He'd dug out Harry's out art apron (which was a garish pink) and had a pair of long pyjama bottoms on. "Okay, just laugh at me." Draco scowled at Harry, and waved a spatula at him.  
"Beans sound good," Harry smirked. "I'm gonna go change into something that doesn't smell. We're going out later, okay?"  
"Uh," Draco hesitated, but nodded.

After pulling on a smart shirt and pair of black jeans, Harry trotted downstairs to find his breakfast had been served up already. "You took your time," Draco smiled through a glass mug of hot tea.  
"A man has his urges," Harry shrugged and slid into place opposite Draco. Harry watched Draco eat his toast happily; the way the blond hair was being pushed around was admirable, because Draco seemed to have very little strength at all. "This smells lovely," Harry admitted, and took his knife and fork in his hands.  
"Quite," Draco raised an eyebrow, and put down his tea. He'd already finished his toast, and was just standing up. "Tea? Coffee?"  
"A pint of scotch?" Harry finished, covering his yawn with the back of his hand.  
"I'm gonna make you a coffee..." Draco said warily, eyeing Harry. Draco had apparently made himself familiar with Harry's house, and was zipping around the kitchen, making a tall mug of coffee for the exhausted Harry. "Here," Draco placed the mug down gently as Harry dug into fried eggs.  
"Thanks," Harry said through a mouthful of food. "This is good," he nodded eagerly. "I didn't know you could cook."  
"I've lived alone for five years," Draco shrugged, and sat back down.  
"Do you fancy going out?" Harry asked, his eyes flicking up to Draco. "Only, I said I'd meet Ginny, and I think she wants to see you."  
"See...me?" Draco stammered, picking up his mug.  
"Yeah," Harry smiled, wolfing down his food.  
"Okay," Draco said uncertainly. "I'll go get changed," he looked down at his clothes, and frowned, "if there's anything that fits."  
"If you go up to the attic, there's a wardrobe of spare clothes- some should fit you. Take whatever you want." Harry smiled, and continued eating.

"What the _hell _kind of clothes have you got in there?" Draco called as he trotted down the stairs. He was wearing a plain button up in pale blue, and dark trousers. He'd worn his own shoes; black and hand crafted.  
"Uh," Harry's eyes couldn't help but drink up the sights of Draco Malfoy. It seemed that the few good meals that he'd had lately were doing him good; his gaunt features looked a little less skeletal than they had when Harry hired him first, and his skin was less ghostly, more milky. His shoulders and back were still lacking muscle, but his posture was more delibarate and thought-out. Harry looked Draco up and down once more before being interupted.  
"Well?" Draco smiled slightly, and put a hand on his hip, "there was some pretty funky stuff in there."  
"If you're refering to my selection of PVC, then," Harry couldn't think of an excuse, "just don't refer to it in public." He decided upon. "Ready?" Harry offered his arm.  
"Sure," Draco wrapped his hand around Harry's bicep, and hid his blush carefully.  
"_Allons-y!_" Harry chuckled. "Wait...is that right?"  
"Yes," Draco grinned, and rolled his eyes into the Side-Along Apparation.


	13. Chapter 13

"Ah," Ginny put down a heat-detecting wand, and turned away from her patient, "you're early, Harry."  
"That I am," Harry unlinked Draco's arm, and pecked Ginny's cheek warmly. "Good afternoon," he inclined his head towards the patient, who did the same, and then rubbed a hand over his own nose.  
"Are you alright?" Draco stepped forward timidly, and smiled sympathetically at the man.  
"Oh," the man nodded once, "yes. Just an infection," he pointed to the large gash across his nose, and shrugged. "I gave my boy my wand- _that's _a mistake."  
"Anything I can do for you?" Draco drew back to his full height.  
"No," the man smiled tightly, and got himself comfortable.  
"Follow me," Ginny ushered the pair through to an office.

"Woah..." Draco walked through to Ginny's office, and was outstanded by the sheer amount of _books_. Everywhere! He stared at a large pile of books on Ginny's metal desk, open mouthed.  
"I know," Ginny chuckled, "I went travelling after Mister Potter, here, called off our engagement."  
"Oh," Draco blushed, and stood awkwardly.  
"So," Harry stepped over to Ginny, and placed his hand on the small of her back, "you were talking when we were packing, and I've never seen anyone be so passionate about _anything_-"  
"And Harry came to me," Ginny smiled charmingly, "and I pulled a few strings and-"  
"And we arranged something for you," Harry summarised, grinning.  
"What?" Draco's eyes had been flickering between the two, and now they rested on Harry. Draco breathed heavily, and frowned warily. "What is it? You've got something to tell me! Go ahead and say it."  
Ginny pursed her lips, but Harry chuckled happily. "You were talking about an alchemy lab, and how you'd always wanted one... I thought you'd like on in the house."  
Draco shook his head, "it's _your _house, Harry. I couldn't possibly-"  
"It's already decided," Ginny said curtly. "It'll be in the attic, and I'll pop over tomorrow, at around lunch time, to help you out."  
"Though," Harry looks at his feet and blushes ever-so-slightly, "you probably won't need help."  
Draco, deciding that this was the best way forward, jumped up and pulled Harry and Ginny into a hug. "Thank you," he grinned softly into Harry's shoulder.

After hugs and thanks had finished, Harry had Apparated back home with Draco. Draco, still grinning like a maniac, slumped down on the sofa and stretched. "Did you like your surprise?" Harry stood in the kitchen archway, and folded his arms over his chest.  
"Of course!" Draco cracked his knuckles. "When are we going to Hermione's? I'm starving."  
"I'm sure," Harry bit back a smirk, and checked the kitchen clock. "Uh, in a few hours. Listen, I've got some paper work to quickly finish up before we leave, so how about I whack on a Muggle film for you, show you how the shower works, and you can pick out some clothes?"  
"I have to finish up for Miss Granger-"  
"-Hermione-"  
"-so I'll skip on the film, and just go upstairs."  
"Are you sure?" Harry bounced off the archway, and summoned a large stack of paper.  
"Yeah," Draco nodded, lifted himself off the sofa, and trudged upstairs.

An hour later, and Draco had pretty much finished on Hermione's latest case. It was a standard proceedure, and it earned him some extra galleons that he so desparately needed. All he had to do now is contact Gringotts, ask for some Goblin records, and copy them up. It shouldn't be too difficult. "Knock, knock." Harry stood in the doorway of Draco's room, smiling gently.  
"Hi," Draco put his quill down, and looked up at Harry. His raven hair was tousled, and he hadn't shaved in a few days. He'd gotten more muscular, too, Draco thought, as he could see the ridges of Harry's arms under his shirt. "Is it time to go already?"  
"No," Harry straightened up, "we've got another hour. I'm just letting you know that, if you want to, I'd get a shower now, if I were you. While you're in there, I'll bring you down some clothes to wear."  
"Thanks," Draco stood up, Accio'd a towel from the airing cupboard, and set about having a shower.

Draco stepped into the blistering shower, the droplets attacking his face as he ran shampoo through his wet hair. He sighed as the smell of tea tree worked its way into his nose, and rubbed his eyes with the back of his wrist as it stung them. He washed the shampoo out, and got another squirt of it on his near-white hair. He scrubbed and rubbed his hair until soap suds fell down his forehead. He stood back under the thundering shower head, and then grabbed a bar of lemon soap, and rubbed his chest, stomach, arms and legs until he felt much cleaner. In fact, Draco decided that he may stay with Harry for a while longer, just so he can utilise his facilities as much as possible; this shower was _so _much better than the dribbly old thing at Mr Watson's. He squirted conditioner onto his hair, and the sweet smell of strawberries made Draco feel home sick; it smelled just like his mother's hair. He rinsed the conditioner out, let the water trickle down his naked body, and then finished scrubbing the rest of his body with soap.  
"Draco?" Harry was outside the door, and Draco jumped.  
"Yes," he turned the shower off abruptly, "_don't come in_!" He called, hopped out the tub, and wrapped a towel around his naked waist. "Okay," he coughed, and unlocked the bathroom door.  
"Sorry," Harry peered in, "but I'm _bursting _for a piss," he chuckled, and Draco weaved out of the way. "I left a pile of clothes out on your bed. I hope they're okay."  
"I'm sure they'll be fine," Draco suddenly felt self concious, and darted to his bedroom.

He dried himself off quickly, and slipped into a pair of dark red boxers. He Accio'd a pair of black socks and smiled; Harry had put them on the radiator to heat up. "How sweet," Draco hummed, but brushed it off. "They probably came out of the wash," he scolded himself for thinking such thoughts- Harry? Be nicer than he had to? Never.  
"You ready yet?" Harry shouted up the stairs.  
"Give me a chance!" Draco called back, and turned to his bed. "Oh wow," he dropped his voice, and he blanched, if that were possible. He ran a finger across the delicate silk shirt on his bed, and inhaled as he carefully dragged a palm across the Egyptian cotton trousers that Harry had chosen. "Merlin," Draco dropped to his knees in awe, and then quickly composed himself. He cast a drying spell over his body and hair, and then slipped on the trousers with a nervous smile.  
"Nearly done?" Harry sounded as if he was waiting, and so Draco put the silk shirt on with the upmost care, and laced on a pair of black shoes.  
"I'm done," Draco opened the door with a hand in his hair, and tried to wipe the lopsided smile off his face.  
"Sorry it's a bit black," Harry shrugged, and trotted down the stairs, "but I wasn't sure whether the bright yellow jeans would fit."  
"Shame," Draco joked, "I loved those."  
"Are we ready?" Harry stood by the fireplace.  
Draco scanned the house, and smiled. It was beginning to feel like _home_. "Sure," he gave Harry a warm smile, and then cursed inwardly. The Mansion is home. The bedsit is home. Shop doorways in Muggle London are home. The house owned by Harry James Potter is _certainly _not home. Not to a _Malfoy. _No, Draco thought, this is temporary. He may have enjoyed Harry's company these past few days, but that didn't matter.  
"Hermione Granger," Harry took Draco's hand loosely, and threw the Floo powder into the emerald flames.


	14. Chapter 14

"Harry!" Ron was sat on a living chair by Hermione's fireplace, but jumped up and clapped Harry on the shoulder. His eyes dropped briefly to Draco's hand, still in Harry's, but then they were raised. "Looking dapper, Draco," he nodded once, and led the pair into the dining room.  
"Thanks, Ron," Harry followed Ron, and didn't let Draco's hand drop. He didn't look back, and didn't want to. It was nice, that way. He could pretend that the soft finger tips belonged to Ginny or perhaps that Clearwater girl (had he forgotten her name already?). But even their delicate touches were old and boring. This was new, and nice, and _real_. Harry stretched his fingers further, so close to Draco's palm, so close to wrapping themselves around his-  
"Are they here?" Harry heard Hermione's tones ring out from the kitchen, and Ron slumped into a wooden dining chair.  
"Yes!" Ron shook his head with a smile. Draco dropped Harry's hand as the frizzy-haired witch dashed through the door.  
"Harry!" Hermione gave Harry a firm hug, and then shot Draco an easy smile. "You're looking well, Draco! I love the shirt!"  
"Oh," Draco looked down, and blushed, "it's Harry's, actually. It probably looks better on him."  
"Don't be silly," Harry turned around to look at Draco, "you've always had a more musuclar figure than me. You fill it out more."  
"Yes, but I look like a ghost in this!" Draco looked down further, "you've got a much nice skin tone than me-" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, "I mean, you're more tanned."  
Hermione coughed, "shall we have the salad?"

"This is brilliant, Herman," Harry said, shovelling chargrilled chicken into his mouth.  
"I do wish you wouldn't call me that," Hermione said with a smirk. Ron sat next to her, and the only sounds from his direction were blissfull grunts and delighted, satisfied moans. "Elbows off the table, Ronald," Hermione prodded her fiance playfully, but he did so.  
"This really is lovely," Draco rested his knife and fork. His back was straight, his elbows elevated off the table, and his portion small. He'd nearly finished his salad already. "May I have the recipe?"  
Hermione chuckled, "of course! I found it in a cook book a while back. I've been dying to try it out, but nobody would come over to try it."  
"I don't see why," Draco began cutting up a piece of chicken, "it's lovely." And he meant that. He'd eaten food before, and it tasted better when it came back up. He liked how it felt to be in control. But this? Maybe, Draco thought, sipping a hefty glass of red wine, food is an ally after all.  
Harry was sat next to Draco, and he didn't realise how close their knees were, until he moved to get some salad dressing. He blushed, and fell back into place. His knee suddenly felt cold from the lack of connection. Draco didn't look his way. "Even the dressing is beautiful," Harry commented, pouring the honey-mustard dressing over his chicken and salad.  
"You put enough of it on," Ron joked, but then fell into his routine of quiet again. The four ate in silence before Draco broke it two minutes later.  
"That was lovely," he said truthfully to Hermione, who was still eating.  
Everyone else was eating.  
Everyone but Draco.  
He felt his stomach churn, and his hand grabbed his side in reflex. Not now, he thought, please, not now.  
"That's okay," Hermione smiled easily, and carried on eating.  
Everyone carried on eating.  
Everyone but Harry. "You alright?" Harry had put his fork down, and was looking at Draco's face intently. Ron and Hermione were discussing wedding cakes.  
Draco managed a pitiful nod, "I'm-" He didn't finish. He _couldn't_ finish. He picked up his wine glass, and gulped. He needed that.  
"You're pale," Harry muttered, his fingers itching to take Draco's temperature, or take care of _him_, at least.  
"It runs in the family," Draco's mind was reeling, but he managed the small, snide comment that made him relax, if a little. If at all. "May I use your bathroom?" He asked Ron. Why, Harry was unsure, as it was Hermione's cottage.  
"Uh," Ron nodded numbly, "up the stairs, last door on the left." He paused a moment, "you alright, mate?" His face was full of concern. Ha, Draco thought bitterly, that was clearly an act.  
"Yeah," Draco smiled painfully, "had a lot of wine."

Draco practically had sprinted to the bathroom. He bolted the door and collapsed on the tiled floor. It was cream. Everything was cream. The toilet, the tub, the sink, the walls, the carpet. _Everything_. Even the soap. Draco's legs had bulked, he noted, and he couldn't even move himself to the sink because of the debilitating feeling of-  
"Draco?" A tender voice came through the door. Draco's shaky hands entered his dampening hair, and he didn't answer. He rolled up the sleeves of this _perfect _shirt. He'd relaxed _so _much... He'd even dished himself up less and-  
"Draco?! It's Harry," obviously, Draco thought, "please, let me in. Hermione's making a fish course now. Well, it's the main course, and it's just tuna steaks, but you like tuna, don't you?"  
"Go away," even Draco's voice was shaky, "please."  
"I'm the one begging here," Harry chortled. _The nerve_.  
"Leave me alone," Draco pleaded. "I'll Apparate home, I promise. Just," he let out a breath that sounded like a baby's rattle, "leave me alone."  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Draco didn't want to see his stupid face.  
"Too much wine," Draco lied quickly, and coughed loudly. His stomach was growling, and his throat burned. His fingers tapped at the tiles in a pattern and-  
"_Stop lying_," Harry said firmly, and that was enough to make Draco unlock the door. "Let me in," Harry said, though Draco could barely hear.  
"I want to be alone," Draco repeated, more to himself than to Harry.  
"This isn't the Malfoy way, Draco. You'd put on a brave face and just...not do this. We're worried about you. _I'm _worried about you." Harry sounded sincire.  
Draco felt his knees strengthen as he leant against the door. He exhaled deeply, and found the strength to open the door. Harry was stood in front of him, he eyes blinking and his hands wringing. "You...I didn't think you'd..."  
"You could have done it magically," Draco spat bitterly, somehow furious at Harry.  
"That isn't fair on you. I'd have done it if I had to, but I'd rather you let me in, Draco. I can't muscle my way into every aspect of your life." Harry took Draco's face in his hands, and searched it roughly.  
"I'm okay," Draco lied, but let Harry move his face from side to side, looking for _something_.  
"Do you want to go home?" Harry asked softly, his green eyes watering slightly.  
"I-" Draco faltered. He did, but he was a Slytherin. No. He was a _Malfoy_. "I could do with getting some of that paper work for Miss Gra- _Hermione_."  
"Do you want me to Floo with you?" Harry's voice was becoming firmer. Draco nodded feebly, and Harry led Draco down the stairs gently.

"Hermione and Ron understand," Harry said at the Floo in his house. He was mainly confused, but Draco seemed to be steadier than before. "I want to help, Draco. What's wrong?"  
"I don't want to talk about it," Draco unlinked his little finger from Harry's, and marched upstairs. His stomach still grumbled, and his mind still spat evil things into his ear, but the sound of thudding footsteps after him calmed him down, even just a little.  
"It's food," Harry stood a few steps behind Draco, a dumb look on his face. "Isn't it? You can't eat it, is that it? Or is it anxiety? _Draco Malfoy answer me_!" His voice was raised, and Draco cowered back.  
Harry's eyes dropped to his feet as Draco spoke, "go back to Hermione's. I'm staying here."

"I'm worried," Harry was back in Hermione's cottage, with a beer in hand. "I knew something was wrong, but... I got him an alchemy lab for the attic, so he can distract himself, but I'm worried."  
"You're a good person," Hermione stroked Harry's arm calmingly, "you're doing the right thing."  
Ron pursed his lips slightly, "do you love him?"  
Harry protested, "no!"  
"Liar," Ron smirked, and sipped his beer. "I've seen the way you looked at him. I saw how you leaned into him. How your hands just _stayed_. Loving him might not help him, Harry, but being there might give him a reason to fight."  
Harry blushed, and turned his head to the fire, "I want him to be okay."  
"We all do," Ron chimed in with a supportive grimace.  
"Why don't you go home, put on a shitty film, and then talk to him in the morning? Maybe going to see Blaise and Pansy would help?" Hermione cocked her head slightly.  
"Yeah," Harry muttered weakly, and drained his beer, and kept drinking after that.


	15. Chapter 15

"Harry!" Ron was sat on a living chair by Hermione's fireplace, but jumped up and clapped Harry on the shoulder. His eyes dropped briefly to Draco's hand, still in Harry's, but then they were raised. "Looking dapper, Draco," he nodded once, and led the pair into the dining room.  
"Thanks, Ron," Harry followed Ron, and didn't let Draco's hand drop. He didn't look back, and didn't want to. It was nice, that way. He could pretend that the soft finger tips belonged to Ginny or perhaps that Clearwater girl (had he forgotten her name already?). But even their delicate touches were old and boring. This was new, and nice, and _real_. Harry stretched his fingers further, so close to Draco's palm, so close to wrapping themselves around his-  
"Are they here?" Harry heard Hermione's tones ring out from the kitchen, and Ron slumped into a wooden dining chair.  
"Yes!" Ron shook his head with a smile. Draco dropped Harry's hand as the frizzy-haired witch dashed through the door.  
"Harry!" Hermione gave Harry a firm hug, and then shot Draco an easy smile. "You're looking well, Draco! I love the shirt!"  
"Oh," Draco looked down, and blushed, "it's Harry's, actually. It probably looks better on him."  
"Don't be silly," Harry turned around to look at Draco, "you've always had a more musuclar figure than me. You fill it out more."  
"Yes, but I look like a ghost in this!" Draco looked down further, "you've got a much nice skin tone than me-" Ron and Hermione exchanged looks, "I mean, you're more tanned."  
Hermione coughed, "shall we have the salad?"

"This is brilliant, Herman," Harry said, shovelling chargrilled chicken into his mouth.  
"I do wish you wouldn't call me that," Hermione said with a smirk. Ron sat next to her, and the only sounds from his direction were blissfull grunts and delighted, satisfied moans. "Elbows off the table, Ronald," Hermione prodded her fiance playfully, but he did so.  
"This really is lovely," Draco rested his knife and fork. His back was straight, his elbows elevated off the table, and his portion small. He'd nearly finished his salad already. "May I have the recipe?"  
Hermione chuckled, "of course! I found it in a cook book a while back. I've been dying to try it out, but nobody would come over to try it."  
"I don't see why," Draco began cutting up a piece of chicken, "it's lovely." And he meant that. He'd eaten food before, and it tasted better when it came back up. He liked how it felt to be in control. But this? Maybe, Draco thought, sipping a hefty glass of red wine, food is an ally after all.  
Harry was sat next to Draco, and he didn't realise how close their knees were, until he moved to get some salad dressing. He blushed, and fell back into place. His knee suddenly felt cold from the lack of connection. Draco didn't look his way. "Even the dressing is beautiful," Harry commented, pouring the honey-mustard dressing over his chicken and salad.  
"You put enough of it on," Ron joked, but then fell into his routine of quiet again. The four ate in silence before Draco broke it two minutes later.  
"That was lovely," he said truthfully to Hermione, who was still eating.  
Everyone else was eating.  
Everyone but Draco.  
He felt his stomach churn, and his hand grabbed his side in reflex. Not now, he thought, please, not now.  
"That's okay," Hermione smiled easily, and carried on eating.  
Everyone carried on eating.  
Everyone but Harry. "You alright?" Harry had put his fork down, and was looking at Draco's face intently. Ron and Hermione were discussing wedding cakes.  
Draco managed a pitiful nod, "I'm-" He didn't finish. He _couldn't_ finish. He picked up his wine glass, and gulped. He needed that.  
"You're pale," Harry muttered, his fingers itching to take Draco's temperature, or take care of _him_, at least.  
"It runs in the family," Draco's mind was reeling, but he managed the small, snide comment that made him relax, if a little. If at all. "May I use your bathroom?" He asked Ron. Why, Harry was unsure, as it was Hermione's cottage.  
"Uh," Ron nodded numbly, "up the stairs, last door on the left." He paused a moment, "you alright, mate?" His face was full of concern. Ha, Draco thought bitterly, that was clearly an act.  
"Yeah," Draco smiled painfully, "had a lot of wine."

Draco practically had sprinted to the bathroom. He bolted the door and collapsed on the tiled floor. It was cream. Everything was cream. The toilet, the tub, the sink, the walls, the carpet. _Everything_. Even the soap. Draco's legs had bulked, he noted, and he couldn't even move himself to the sink because of the debilitating feeling of-  
"Draco?" A tender voice came through the door. Draco's shaky hands entered his dampening hair, and he didn't answer. He rolled up the sleeves of this _perfect _shirt. He'd relaxed _so _much... He'd even dished himself up less and-  
"Draco?! It's Harry," obviously, Draco thought, "please, let me in. Hermione's making a fish course now. Well, it's the main course, and it's just tuna steaks, but you like tuna, don't you?"  
"Go away," even Draco's voice was shaky, "please."  
"I'm the one begging here," Harry chortled. _The nerve_.  
"Leave me alone," Draco pleaded. "I'll Apparate home, I promise. Just," he let out a breath that sounded like a baby's rattle, "leave me alone."  
"What's wrong?" Harry asked. Draco didn't want to see his stupid face.  
"Too much wine," Draco lied quickly, and coughed loudly. His stomach was growling, and his throat burned. His fingers tapped at the tiles in a pattern and-  
"_Stop lying_," Harry said firmly, and that was enough to make Draco unlock the door. "Let me in," Harry said, though Draco could barely hear.  
"I want to be alone," Draco repeated, more to himself than to Harry.  
"This isn't the Malfoy way, Draco. You'd put on a brave face and just...not do this. We're worried about you. _I'm _worried about you." Harry sounded sincire.  
Draco felt his knees strengthen as he leant against the door. He exhaled deeply, and found the strength to open the door. Harry was stood in front of him, he eyes blinking and his hands wringing. "You...I didn't think you'd..."  
"You could have done it magically," Draco spat bitterly, somehow furious at Harry.  
"That isn't fair on you. I'd have done it if I had to, but I'd rather you let me in, Draco. I can't muscle my way into every aspect of your life." Harry took Draco's face in his hands, and searched it roughly.  
"I'm okay," Draco lied, but let Harry move his face from side to side, looking for _something_.  
"Do you want to go home?" Harry asked softly, his green eyes watering slightly.  
"I-" Draco faltered. He did, but he was a Slytherin. No. He was a _Malfoy_. "I could do with getting some of that paper work for Miss Gra- _Hermione_."  
"Do you want me to Floo with you?" Harry's voice was becoming firmer. Draco nodded feebly, and Harry led Draco down the stairs gently.

"Hermione and Ron understand," Harry said at the Floo in his house. He was mainly confused, but Draco seemed to be steadier than before. "I want to help, Draco. What's wrong?"  
"I don't want to talk about it," Draco unlinked his little finger from Harry's, and marched upstairs. His stomach still grumbled, and his mind still spat evil things into his ear, but the sound of thudding footsteps after him calmed him down, even just a little.  
"It's food," Harry stood a few steps behind Draco, a dumb look on his face. "Isn't it? You can't eat it, is that it? Or is it anxiety? _Draco Malfoy answer me_!" His voice was raised, and Draco cowered back.  
Harry's eyes dropped to his feet as Draco spoke, "go back to Hermione's. I'm staying here."

"I'm worried," Harry was back in Hermione's cottage, with a beer in hand. "I knew something was wrong, but... I got him an alchemy lab for the attic, so he can distract himself, but I'm worried."  
"You're a good person," Hermione stroked Harry's arm calmingly, "you're doing the right thing."  
Ron pursed his lips slightly, "do you love him?"  
Harry protested, "no!"  
"Liar," Ron smirked, and sipped his beer. "I've seen the way you looked at him. I saw how you leaned into him. How your hands just _stayed_. Loving him might not help him, Harry, but being there might give him a reason to fight."  
Harry blushed, and turned his head to the fire, "I want him to be okay."  
"We all do," Ron chimed in with a supportive grimace.  
"Why don't you go home, put on a shitty film, and then talk to him in the morning? Maybe going to see Blaise and Pansy would help?" Hermione cocked her head slightly.  
"Yeah," Harry muttered weakly, and drained his beer, and kept drinking after that.


	16. Chapter 16

Harry entered the living room with a _crash_. He'd Floo'd back home from Hermione's in the early hours of the morning, and was currently stumbling around like a drunken lunatic. He _was _a drunken lunatic. His white shirt was half done up, he'd lost one shoe on his first lap around the sofa, and his glasses weren't even trying.  
"Harry?" A half naked, exhausted and furious Draco Malfoy padded down the stairs in slippers. His blond hair was longer than he'd ever liked it, and he didn't look so muscular like this. His arms were frail, and his ribs stuck out obviously. His skin was whiter than blinding light, and purple and blue veins were visible. Violet bags hung under his eyes, and his fists clenched when he smelled alcohol. "It's late," he commented.  
Harry hiccuped in response, and collapsed on the sofa. "Tired," he mumbled.  
"Pissed out of your head," Draco growled, trotting down the sofa. "Up," he prodded Harry's side, and definately did _not _look at his collar bones.  
"'m not a broom," Harry pushed Draco away weakly, dribble escaping his mouth.  
Draco scoffed, wiped Harry's mouth, and tried lifting him. "You've put on weight, it seems..." Draco huffed, and linked Harry's arm around his shoulder. Why in the hell, he thought, am I helping Harry Potter up the stairs?  
"'m worried 'bout you," Harry slurred as he was hefted off the sofa.  
"Great," Draco was concentrating on _not _letting Harry fall. That would be messy.  
"You're s-s-sick," Harry stuttered through his drunken stupor, but Draco ignored him. The pair had reached the bottom of the stairs before Harry spoke again. "You look sick."  
"Take a hangover potion, Potter," Draco was shattered, and being woken up by smashing _wasn't _his idea of fun.  
"You're pretty," Harry looked up at Draco, his green eyes batting.  
"I thought I looked sick?" Draco's tone was curt, and he propped Harry up against the wall as he unlocked the bedroom door. "Do I have to put you in your pyjama's too?"  
Harry smirked and nodded, "yes." Draco scoffed again, took Harry under the arm once more, and dragged him into Harry's bedroom.

Crimson. That's all Draco could think as he entered Harry's domain. The living room, kitchen- everywhere- was neutral. Beige, white, cream, ivory; all synnonyms for the same word- _dull_. Draco set Harry down on the plush bed, and went to the small set of clothes drawers to find night clothes for the raven haired man. "What do you sleep in?" Draco asked, plowing his way through assorted items of clothing.  
"Nothing," Harry hiccuped loudly, and then burped.  
"I am _not _cleaning up your sick," Draco warned. "And I'm serious. Long bottoms? Boxer shorts? A shirt? You tell me."  
"Uh," Harry swayed on the spot, and moved his glasses off his face. "Shorts," he decided on finally.  
Draco turned around and gulped. Harry's shirt was mostly undone, by now, and his face was clear of glasses. He could finally see the curves of Harry's cheek bones, the true glint to his emerald eyes, the adorable ridge in his nose, the-  
"Those ones," Harry interupted the thoughts by chucking a pair of dark blue boxers at Draco's face. Clean ones, thankfully.  
"You can put these on yourself," Draco screwed his nose up. He was beginning to feel rather uncomfortable.  
"Stay," Harry said quietly, taking off his white shirt, and discarding it on the floor.  
"No," Draco turned to leave.  
"Please," Harry begged incoherently, and grasped Draco's wrist.  
Draco left wordlessly.

Draco found himself in the attic. The alchemy lab was already installed, and so was a small box full of ingredients. He relaxed. He was _safe _here. No 'Mister Potter' thoughts. No shirtless room mate. No untimely tug. No- _No._ "Stop it," he slapped his ice cold face once, and stormed over to the lab. It was beautiful. Draco ran his hands over the woodwork, and picked up the vials and admired them. "Gorgeous," he said softly, and began to work.


	17. Chapter 17

Two hours later, Draco was still working. Or rather, his hands were doing all the thinking, and his mind wandered. It kept coming back to the same thing, though. _Harry_. He hated that. He wanted to sleep, but he couldn't get the image of _him_ out of his mind. He wanted to leave. He wanted to-

Harry yawned. How long had he been out? Three hours. Right. He could hear tapping from above. Was that Draco? Probably. "What's the time?" He rolled over and looked at his alarm clock. Four in the morning. Did he have work later? Probably not. Did he want to sleep until everything was right again? Did he want to banish these confusing thoughts of a certain blond haired beauty? Probably. He wanted to-

Draco shuffled on the spot. It was cold. His naked torso shivered. His skin was ripe with goosebumps, and his nipples stood hard from the chill. He'd made three potions already. A hangover one, for Harry, and two calming ones for himself. He needed to take those. He needed to calm down. He needed to-

Harry sat up. Five minutes since he checked the time. Had the drink worn off already? That was pointless, wasn't it? His mind drifted to Draco. Was he alright? No. Stupid question, Harry thought, he was certainly _not _alright. He remembered the previous night. Dinner... Good, very good. After dinner? Awful. "Merlin," Harry's head was thumping, and his mind whirled with memories of things said. Where was Draco now? "Is he okay?" He spoke to thin air. He needed to know. He needed to-

"_Fuck_!" Draco dropped the glass vial, and it shattered as it it the floor. He wasn't concentrating enough. That was the second time he'd done that, now. He couldn't stop thinking about how rude he'd been to Harry. He'd even called him _Potter _again. How childish. Mister Potter... now that was different. "No," he scolded himself. Harry had wanted company. He was clearly drinking for a reason. People _always _drank for a reason. Mother did. Father did. He did. He left Harry when he was scared, probably, and vulnerable. He left someone he cared about so much to- _No. _He refused to let himself think that. He needed to apologise. He needed to-

"Draco?" Harry opened Draco's bedroom door. His room was a tip. Paper, pens, quills and parchment were strewn everywhere. His bookcase was only half as full as it ought to have been; books lay on the floor. Clothes were bundled up, and a pillow had been squeezed and hexed, Harry could tell. But Draco wasn't there, so Harry didn't linger any longer than he had to. "Where else..." He trailed off when he saw the attic door was wide open. "Draco?!"

"It's four in the morning," Draco told himself, "you are hearing things. Harry is in bed and- _Harry_?" Harry's voice rang up the stairs, and they sung harmonies into Draco's ear. It felt colder, but Draco didn't care. Draco wanted to apologise; it was the decent thing to do.  
"Draco?" Harry called again, his voice closer this time.  
Draco heard footstepts. Harry was at the door, he could tell without looking; his shadow cast over the wood flooring. "Harry," it wasn't a question, but it was soft.  
"Are you alright?" Harry turned Draco around gently, and wasn't sure whether to tense up or to relax. He was alright, sure, but was he? Was he really?  
Draco nodded numbly, and shivered. Seeing Harry in a long, thick shirt made him feel even colder. "I'm sorry about earlier. I was rude...I shouldn't have left you."  
"It's alright," Harry pulled Draco into a hug, releasing warmth over the blond's chattering frame.  
"I'm sorry," Draco repeated, his voice tiny. Harry pushed Draco away, but kept his hands on his shoulders. He wanted to take everything in.  
Draco's hip bones were like daggers; they were sharp and brittle, and too slim for a boy of Draco's stature. Draco had very little fat on him, as was expected, and Harry could see every breath he took. His shoulders were like handle bars of a bicycle under Harry's firm grip. "Don't be," Harry smiled pathetically at Draco. "I want _you _to be okay," his head fell down, "I was worried about you."  
Draco felt like a burden, but seeing Harry's sad eyes fixed upon his made him feel a little better. Or was he reading too far into this? Probably. "Thank you," he managed.  
"I don't know what you're going through," Harry admitted, "but I want to be here for you. I want to hold your hand as you fight it. I would be _honoured _to help you fight it."  
Draco blushed, "you want to hold my hand?"  
Harry spluttered, "it's, uh, a figure of speech. I mean, uh, well..."  
Draco smiled bashfully, "you already have, haven't you?"  
"You let go," Harry frowned.  
"I didn't want to," Draco looked straight at Harry. "I promise you that."  
"Draco?"  
"Yes, Harry?"  
"Is this a good time to kiss you, or shall I wait?"  
Draco laughed, and Harry found himself smirking too.  
"You can kiss me," Draco consented. Harry stepped forward, but his hands on Draco's fragile frame, and leant forward. He was nervous. Draco smelled of a soap shop, and he smelled of a liquor store. Draco was immensely handsome, and Harry was just boring. His lips brushed Draco's, and before he knew it, he had hands in his hair, and a body pressed firmly against his own. It felt _right_. And Harry liked that.  
Harry pulled away, with a grin on his face. "I'll be here until you get better," he told Draco softly.  
"I wouldn't let you go, Mister Potter."


End file.
